


Sunlight Comes Creeping In

by ACommonAnomaly (RowanBaines)



Series: As Little Might Be Thought [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Angst, Even from himself, First Age, Orcs, background violence (not shown), elros is sad but hiding it well, threat of violence, with a hopeful ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-15 22:11:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12329883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowanBaines/pseuds/ACommonAnomaly
Summary: Elros had found nothing frightening in the Fëanorian camp.Except, perhaps, for Maedhros.





	Sunlight Comes Creeping In

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the wonderful and talented [Nixie Genesis](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Nixie_Genesis) for beta reading this for me!

Elros was fuming.

“Will you slow down?” Elrond called out. There came the snap of a twig and the rustling of leaves as Elrond picked up his pace, and then his voice sounded just behind Elros. “Where are you going? You know we shouldn’t wander too far, especially right before dark.”

Maglor had scolded him earlier for borrowing a knife so that he could whittle the end of a stick he had found to create a spear. Maglor had also scolded him for starting his own fire in an area not designated for fire, even though Elros had gotten the fire mostly under control by the time Maglor happened by and found him brandishing the fire-hardened end of his spear at invisible enemies.

Maglor had not been harsh in his reprimand. In fact, Elros often found him to be annoyingly patient with them, as though nothing they did could faze him. Still, Elros had been frustrated and had wanted to lash out at Maglor anyway.

He had wanted to but hadn’t, because Maedhros had been standing next to Maglor.

It had not taken Maglor long to earn their trust, despite the circumstances of their meeting. His honesty had gone a long way in winning them over—his honesty about himself, about the things he had done, and about everything else in the marred world they lived in. Elros had hated it that adults of his household in the Havens of Sirion had treated him as though he couldn’t clearly see for himself what was going on around him. Elrond’s nightmares—which proved to be prophetic in nature—had been made light of, and their growing sense of dread had been smothered beneath comforting words.

Looking back, Elros could grudgingly admit to himself that they had probably meant well in trying to shield him from frightening truths. But their reassurances had amounted to nothing in the end, and he found that he preferred unadorned honesty.

It simply seemed more practical. He knew that there were real monsters in the world, after all. He had heard tales of snarling and twisted creatures that were full of terrible hatred, and no amount of reassurances, however well-intentioned, could protect him from that.

Maglor didn’t frighten him. Nor did any of his followers. It was easy enough to slip into a sense of normalcy, to sit around a flickering fire and tell stories, to cheer when someone returned from a successful hunt, to help mend clothes when they needed it, and to play games when the weather was fair. He had found nothing frightening in the Fëanorian camp.

Except, perhaps, for Maedhros.

Elros hated that he feared him. It had given him pleasure in those first chaotic days among the travelling Fëanorians to choke down his anxiety and face them with open defiance. He felt stronger that way, even if the responses he got ranged from sympathetic frowns, to charmed wonder. Boronel had explained that it was rare to see young ones in times of war, and had warned him that he and his brother would draw attention.

“These are dark times, and most wouldn’t consider bringing forth children in such dangerous and uncertain conditions.” She seemed to catch herself and had looked as abashed as she was capable of looking, which wasn’t all that much. But Elros and Elrond had curiously searched their new home and found that they were indeed the only children.

They quickly learned that all there would dote on them, given the chance. They would eagerly stop whatever tasks they were busy at if Elrond or Elros approached them.

Except Maedhros, that is.

When Maglor had scolded him earlier, his hands on his hips, Elros had wanted to snap back with the kind of biting reply that would have made Elrond stomp on his foot to silence him. Maglor would have raised an eyebrow, and Elros would have felt better about the scolding, even if he didn’t think he’d done anything all that bad to begin with.

But Maedhros had been watching him with that chilling gaze, his scarred face inscrutable, and Elros had only mumbled an apology and hurried off.

His anger built up slowly after that, finally boiling over just before they were to have supper. After wandering glumly to the front gate, he had loitered there until a scout arrived and distracted Faeldir, who had been on watch. He had run full tilt down the hill and plunged into the scattering of trees that they called “the woods,” ignoring his brother’s alarmed call for him to come back.

He had been annoyed that Elrond had followed him, and hoped his cry had not reached Faeldir’s ears. Although the young fellow was amiable enough, he would certainly have something to say about Elros leaving on his own.

Elrond had caught up with him quickly, and was now trotting doggedly beside him. 

“We should go back. It’s getting dark.” He huffed as he jumped over a rotted log, then caught Elros by the arm and whirled him around. “Why are you angry? Did something happen?”

Elros pulled away, though he walked more slowly and made his way around a small patch of underbrush rather than ploughing through it as he might have moments before.

“Did I do something wrong? Is that why you won’t talk to me?” Elrond asked softly from behind him.

Elros stopped and rolled his eyes, then closed them when he felt his brother’s shoulder brush his. Anger made things easier to deal with—it hurt much less than sadness—but he couldn’t be angry with Elrond when he had done nothing wrong.

Though he had to stop himself from gritting his teeth against the words, he finally said, “Maedhros frightens me. I wish he would leave, so that it was only Maglor taking care of us.”

He turned to face his brother, and his heart sank when he saw that Elrond was frowning. But then Elrond took his hand and led him in the direction they had been going before.

After a several moments had passed, Elrond said, “I think Maglor would be very unhappy if Maedhros left. They’re brothers, like us, and I don’t think they’d like to be separated.”

“I don’t think either of them seem very happy to begin with,” Elros said, thinking of the grim expression Maedhros always wore. But he knew that what he said was not completely true, for he had seen Maglor laugh and smile when in his and Elrond’s presence.

He was glad when Elrond ignored this and went on, “He frightens me, too. I wish that he wasn’t always so serious, but I think maybe he’s in pain.”

“The scars?” Elros asked. _And the hand_ , he silently added.

“Yes, and something else. Sometimes it feels like…”

He trailed off as they came to a steep downward slope, and whatever he had been about to say was lost as they picked their way toward the dell below. Through the branches above Elros could see the burnt orange sky, and though it would be dark soon, the sparse trees and gently waving grass around them seemed to glow softly with the fading light. It was beautiful, and Elros felt his spirit settle within him, shedding the day’s frustration like shrugging off a heavy cloak.

Elrond turned to him and smiled as they reached the small stream that had been their destination, and they stopped to dip their hands in the water. They did not drink, as Maglor had warned them of the taint that sometimes poisoned the land, but the water was cool and the silty earth of the stream bed was soft as it squished between their fingers.

Elrond laughed as the pebble he threw sent a spray of water over his feet, but Elros stood up suddenly as something like a shadow flitted through his thoughts.

“We should go back,” Elros said, drying his hands on his tunic.

Elrond stood and did the same, still smiling.

They made their way back toward the slope, and Elros found himself looking over his shoulder, though he saw nothing but the growing shadows. His heart began to pound, and it skipped a beat when he realized what was wrong. There had been birds singing before, but now the world around them was silent.

He caught Elrond’s hand in his as they struggled up the hill. “We should hurry.”

His brother was no longer smiling, and when they reached the top of the slope they broke into a run at the same time, needing no words between them. Luckily they had not gone too far, and would be home soon. They would have supper and demand a song or a story from Maglor before he sent them off to sleep, and then they would drift off with warm thoughts wrapped around them, safe in their beds.

A terrible screeching sounded somewhere in front of them, and they nearly toppled over as they came to an abrupt stop. Between the trees something hunched and misshapen lurked. Its dark eyes glinted as it shuffled toward them through the shadows.

The creature let out another screeching call, and dread settled heavy within Elros as he realized that terrible sound was laughter.

Elrond took a step back, pulling Elros with him, but they both whirled around at the rustling of leaves behind them. Another creature—an orc, Elros realized—was approaching with a dented and dirty blade raised above its head. Its skin was sickly gray, and it revealed jagged teeth as its lips pulled back in a mockery of a smile. The orc grated out something in their orcish-tongue, and an answer came from their left, where yet another was approaching.

Elros turned to his right, pulling Elrond with him, hoping to dash between the orcs and make for safety, but another had crept up while the others spoke and was advancing on them more quickly than its wary companions.

Despite the look of terror on his face, Elrond was trying to stand between Elros and the approaching orc, one arm thrown out backward. But Elros pulled his brother back against his side, his stomach churning with nausea at the realization that he might have to watch him die.

“Leave us alone!” Elros cried, hating the way his voice cracked under the weight of his fear.

The orc approaching them stopped, eyeing them speculatively, and Elros wished that he had some weapon so that he could at least injure the creatures that meant to hurt him and his brother.

He leaned his head against Elrond’s, and his heart gave a painful throb as he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Elrond let out a soft, choked sound as his arm squeezed tight around Elros.

The orc stopped in front of them, and Elros could hear the others moving closer now. It reached for him, knobby fingers curled to grab his throat, and as Elros locked eyes with the creature he saw nothing but bone-chilling hatred in them. He felt as though his spirit was withering beneath that gaze. He had never felt such harsh emotions directed at him, and it made him feel small and worthless.

The orc’s hand would have closed around his throat in only a moment, but Elrond yanked him violently aside and they tumbled to the ground together.

The air filled with the orc’s guttural screams of fear, and for a moment Elros could not understand what was happening. Then Elrond yanked him to his feet, and he turned to see a tall figure between them and the orcs.

It was Maedhros. His coppery hair gleamed, and the metallic whisper of his sword being drawn sent the orcs scuttling further back.

Elros could not see his face, but whatever the orcs saw as they gazed up at him seemed to stir them into a frenzy of fear. He felt a wild burst of elation go through him as he realized that Maedhros would not let him or Elrond be harmed, that they would go back and see Maglor again…but his skin prickled and his relief faded as he heard more orcish voices and saw new shadows moving between the trees.

Maedhros turned to them, and Elros caught a glimpse of the fire in his eyes as he yelled, “Go back! Run!”

Elros clutched Elrond’s hand tightly and began to run, though his legs trembled beneath him. The world around him became a blur as his focus shifted to flare of torch-light ahead, just a tiny spark in the distance. Behind him he heard the clash of metal and he grew sick again at the thought that Maedhros might perish for having saved them.

He hadn’t really wanted Maedhros to leave. He hadn’t wanted him to die.

He stumbled, but Elrond’s arms went around him, keeping him upright. Elros stopped though, and looked back toward the sound of fighting. He did not want to leave Maedhros to face so many enemies alone, but he knew there was nothing he could do to help.

Elrond gave him a sharp tug, saying, “Come on! We need to tell someone what’s happening!”

At that Elros broke into a run again, now determined to reach the gate as quickly as possible. As they broke through the trees and climbed the steep hill that led to the gate, Elros heard voices crying out in alarm.

Elros nearly stumbled at the gate, then found himself staring into the dark, worried eyes of Faeldir.

Faeldir steadied him and said, “Easy! Are you hurt?”

He and Elrond were still trying to catch their breath when Maglor appeared and knelt down next to Faeldir, an almost wild look in his eyes. “What were you doing beyond the gate at this hour?”

Elros heard Elrond explain that Maedhros needed their help, but Elros could not speak through his gut-twisting guilt. He looked over his shoulder and saw that the fiery sunset had painted the tops of the trees and hills golden, the last light clinging tenaciously to the land.

He wondered how the world could be so beautiful and yet so full of terrible things, and he turned back to Maglor.

“He’s alone! You have to help him!” Elrond was saying.

Elros stared in disbelief when Maglor stood and casually gestured to one of those now gathered around them and then pointed the way they had come, apparently unconcerned about the urgency of his brother’s situation.

But then he laid a comforting hand on Elrond’s head and said, “He is not alone, little one.”

The person he had gestured to was now trotting down the hill with two others, and once they had disappeared from sight Elros turned back to Maglor and finally found his voice.

“What do you mean?”

“One of our scouts spotted signs of the orcs’ presence to the north. He believed it to be only a small, ragged band of them, but he met with a returning hunting party and they tracked them here.” Though his voice remained mild there was a tightness to his expression when he added, “Your timing is atrocious, Elros.”

Elros felt his cheeks burn. He felt even more foolish when he realized that Boronel was watching him, her arms crossed over her chest. But her eyes softened when he met her gaze, and her lips quirked faintly.

“It’s the strangest thing. When the scout arrived, the first thing Maedhros did was ask after _you_ , Elros,” she said.

Elros remembered the cool way Maedhros had watched him earlier when Maglor scolded him. He wondered what the tall elf had seen in him then, and how often he was aware of Elros and Elrond’s emotions. He never gave any sign that he noticed anything.

Elros stood close to his brother just inside the gate, refusing to go inside until he saw for himself that Maedhros was alive. Even Boronel had gone to help, one hand resting on the hilt of her sword as she limped down the hill, but Maglor still hovered nearby, the concern he had not shown earlier now evident in his narrowed eyes.

Unable to contain himself any longer, Elros said, “You should go to your brother. What if he needs you?”

“No,” he said with a short jerk of his head. His eyes never stopped scanning the hills around them. “Your safety is my responsibility, and I have already failed you once today. If there is danger afoot then I will stay with you.”

“You didn’t...” It was only then that Elros noticed that Maglor was armed as Boronel had been, and that the watch on the wall seemed to have been doubled. “I’m sorry I ran off. I shouldn’t have. Elrond could have been hurt because of me.”

His heart lightened when Elrond took his hand, and Maglor turned to smile at him.

“And I’m sorry I did not realize how upset you were,” Maglor said. He looked pale in the dying light, though his eyes sparkled warmly, reflecting the fire of the torches. “I understand if you do not feel comfortable confiding in me, but please, know that I am always willing to listen if you wish to.”

Elros nodded. It was what he loved most about Maglor, that he spoke to them in a way that acknowledged their understanding of the world around them, and never as though he was humoring them. Elros didn’t feel like a little child, and he didn’t want to be spoken to as one.

Elros felt Elrond startle next to him when Maglor let out a sudden, “Ah.”

Maedhros was coming up the hill, Boronel on his heels.

When Maedhros reached them, Boronel clapped him companionably on the shoulder and walked past without a backward glance. Elros realized that she had likely only gone down the hill to bring Maedhros back so that their worry would be eased, and he was grateful.

Maglor stroked his brother’s arm, but Maedhros brushed past him and kneeled before Elros, grabbing him by the shoulder. His hand gave a spasm, as though he wished to shake him, but he only held on firmly, his pale eyes blazing.

“That was very foolish!” he snapped out, his voice deep and harsh. “I expect you to be more cautious in the future.”

With that scarred face so close to his and the full intensity of that gaze burning into him, Elros should have been afraid, but he had once seen the look Maedhros now wore on the face of another, and he found himself plunged into the memory.

He had wanted to get his mother’s attention. He thought that if he could draw her sad gaze away from the sea that he could make her smile, make her happy. When subtle antics did not catch her attention, he had climbed onto the railing that lined the terrace and walked along the top of it, carefully balancing himself.

But, as often happened when he was upset or frustrated, he had misstepped. He slipped and went over the edge, and though the drop was not significant, the uneven rocks below would surely have caused him injury. He had fallen expecting great pain, but instead he had felt himself grasped by the shirt and pulled back over the railing.

Once his feet were safely on the ground he had found himself looking up at his nursemaid, Saeldes, who had faithfully shadowed Elros and Elrond’s footsteps from the time they could walk.

Elros saw the same expression of distress she had worn that day mirrored now in front of him, on the face of someone he had feared up until this moment.

He missed Saeldes. And although he had come to dislike being talked to like a child, he felt with sudden painful longing the desire to loved and protected like one. For all the hesitance Maedhros had shown since their arrival, he _did_ care, of that Elros was now certain. Saeldes, his mother, all those he had loved and looked up to at the Havens, would consider these people the enemy. What would they think of him for giving them his love and for accepting their love in return?

Though his heart ached, Elros strengthened his resolve. He wanted love and security, needed it, and he would not feel guilty for that. He would _not_.

With this thought, guilt he had not even realized had been burdening him lifted. His eyes watered as he was overcome by vulnerability. He might not always feel like a child, but he wanted very much to be comforted as one. Maybe that was ok. Maybe it didn’t have to mean that he was weak.

He tried to hold back the first sob, and it hurt when it tore free anyway.

Maedhros looked alarmed, and Elros realized that he likely thought Elros was crying out of fear. Sobbing freely now, he threw his arms around Maedhros. He cried harder—though from sheer relief—when he felt Maedhros lay his hand on his back. The touch was tentative and warm and grew firmer as he lifted Elros up into his arms.

Elros clutched him around the neck and buried his face against his shoulder so that he would not have to look at anyone.

“We should take them inside,” Maedhros said. For all the gruffness of his voice, his arms remained gentle around Elros as he turned and began to walk.

Elros lifted his head just enough to get a peek at his brother, and he saw that Elrond was looking up at him with an expression of wonder. Despite his sniffling and the tears still wetting his cheeks, he couldn’t help but smile a little at that.

He never could have imagined the strange path his life would take, but he was determined to find the good in it, the good in those around him. He wouldn’t give in to his anger or to his despair if there was happiness to be had.

He closed his eyes, still smiling through his tears, and let himself be held.


End file.
